


Idol

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley tries out the Riker maneuver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idol

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a particularly good glass of... whatever it is. William pauses in his enjoyment, swallowing and putting the glass down on the table. The fluorescent blue liquid shimmers up at him, offering no hint at his contents. Most days, he places his own order in Ten Forward. But other days... sometimes Guinan just does her thing.

Whatever it is, it tastes good. After exhausting his mental list of known drinks and coming up with zero matches, William decides it doesn’t matter and picks it up for another sip that turns into a gulp. He only stops short of downing the rest because he spots the doors opening and a familiar face headed straight for him. At a four-person table all by himself, William preemptively kicks the chair across from him back a few centimeters: a universal invitation. 

Wesley Crusher smiles at the gesture. He beelines straight for that offered seat, but where he should maneuver around it, he doesn’t. 

He lifts his right leg up, swings it forward, hits the back of the chair and loses balance on his other foot, toppling forward and sending the chair with him. He falls just short of bashing his head on the table, and William doesn’t even have time to stand up; Wesley’s on the floor in a heartbeat, knocking the chair on his left over in the process. William has to slam his glass down because he’s choking—he tried to laugh at the same time he swallowed. 

He gracefully holds it in and covers his mouth so he’s not grinning like an idiot. He’s hyper aware that they’ve caught the collective attention of the room. He has to completely stomp out his urge to chuckle before he asks, just loud enough to carry over the countertop, “Wes, you alright?”

Wesley’s head pokes up, bright red, and he mumbles, “Y-yeah.” He smartly doesn’t look around and rights the chair he tried to mount while William bends to straighten out the other. By the time Wesley’s sat down properly—the normal person way—Guinan’s bustled over with a glass of orange juice. 

“I think you might want to find a new hero to emulate,” she offers, before shooting a knowing this-is-your-fault look in William’s direction. He tries to look indignant but winds up smiling. 

“I don’t know, I think Wesley would look very handsome in a beard.”

Guinan gives him an indulgent smile before brushing away to leave them in peace. Wesley buries his red face in his glass and looks down, but he’s already been outted. William probably wouldn’t have said anything on his own, but now that’s off the table. 

He offers instead, “Don’t worry; you’ll get the hang of it. Just wait a few years for your legs to grow a little longer.” And the natural finesse and style to ease in, but William doesn’t mention that part. There’s an art to mounting chairs cowboy-style, and if Wesley wants to become that kind of artist, William’s certainly not about to stop him. 

When Wesley finishes a big enough gulp of orange juice to leave a coloured halo over his lip, he insists, “It worked in my room! But... I guess the chairs are smaller there.”

“Should be practicing in the holodeck so you can use a variety of chairs.” Wesley’s eyes widen like William’s the greatest genius to ever walk the stars. William has to try and keep his grin in check, the teasing look off his face. It’s flattering to have someone trying to emulate him, even if the effort turns into an adorable wreck. Wesley, to his credit, pulls himself together and regains some semblance of determination.

“I’ll get it right.”

“I know you will.”

“I mean it—I’m going to practice again.” 

“I believe in you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

William’s laugh is out of his mouth before he can stop it; Wesley goes back to his drink.


End file.
